A Little Too Close

I didn't grow up in a particularly touchy-feely family. I really can only vaguely remember my parents giving me hugs and kisses, although of course they did give loads of love, it just wasn't always very physical. It's really only since I've been with DH (who is so touchy feely as to resemble a large man-shaped piece of velcro) that touchy-feelyness has been part of my life. I've noticed the difference in myself especially when I am around my siblings. My sister still isn't into touchy-feely - she visibly cringes when she senses someone coming in close for a hug. It's just not a comfortable thing for her to do. My brother, who was also previously of the touch-me-and-I'll-sock-you-in-the-eye category, is engaged to someone who is clearly a touchy feely. So he, too, has now been sucked into the vortex of hand holding, ear nuzzling, hug-while-standing-close-in-a-line affection of the physical sort.

My new-found (if you count 13 years as new) touchiness is something which has clearly been passed onto my kids. We own what is quite possibly the world's largest living room couch. It's enormous. If it had wings, it would be a jumbo jet. If it had wheels, it would be a road train. It's this massive, sink right into it's luscious goodness L-shaped leather couch. However, it's clearly far too big for us, and it has this magnetic field embedded in it. Observe us watching TV together as a family: At the start of watching a show together, we're all one person away from each other (so person-space-person-space-person). By the first ad break, all the spaces between us have disappeared and we're all smooshed onto one end. So you look at this vast expanse of couch which is all empty, and at one end it's personpersonpersonpersonpersonanddog (on floor.)

We just spend an unbelivable amount of time squished into one another, and the couch is only one example.

For us as a family, it's all about hugs and hand holding and "just one more" hug or kiss or touch or pat. I have no shame in admitting I love giving my daughter's butt a playful smack or rub when she walks past, that tickle fights are an everyday occurrence around here, and that we spend an extraordinary amount of time invading each other's personal space. 99% of the time, I love that about us. I love that we are close in every way it's possible to be so, and I like to believe that this closeness will be carried through the rest of my children's lives. We're a team, in everything we do, and it stands to reason that teams stick together (although perhaps not quite so literally.) I truly believe that the families who eat together, play together, and work at things together will ultimately be successful at producing happy, healthy individuals.

However. I'm new to this whole velcro and sticky tape lifestyle, and so occasionally I completely lose my shit over the fact that YOU PEOPLE ARE ALL UP IN MY SPACE AND CAN YOU PLEASE STOP BLOODY TOUCHING ME!!! and then I flap my arms like a girl and yell some more until everyone realises they need to take a GIANT step back before I go totally postal on the whole lot of them. Today was one of those days. We went to find some camping gear for DS (and we all know how I feel about camping, so my comfort zone was already feeling a bit hot and itchy and annoyed). This camping shopping trip involved lots of walking and looking and canvas discussions and bits of metal pole and a whole lot of money and other stuff I don't like. DS, bless him, found a new way to walk along next to me. He's so tall that he can now lean his elbow on the top of my handbag (which is hanging from my shoulder) and then kinda lean into me nice and close. So the end effect is he drags my shoulder down, which makes me look more like the Hunchback of Notre Dame than I already do. Plus he weighs a lot so it's a bit like walking while carrying a sack of flour with legs. It's really an unpleasant way to walk...and no matter how much I tell him to STOP LEANING ON ME, he doesn't even realise he's doing it. He's a touchy feely, and that's just his way. So then, of course, I either walk much faster than he does, or I move my handbag to the other shoulder. I take defensive action and engage in a choreographed dance of anti-child elbow leaning activities. It's totally futile, because exactly like the weird magnetic field on the couch, this kid just kinda...shoomps right back over to me. (No, I don't think shoomp is a word, but it sounded right in context. Work with me.)

This happened all afternoon.

I don't need to tell you how much my last nerve was herself getting annoyed at being leaned on.

By the time we got home today, between all the thinking about camping crap and the leaning and DD2 driving me INSANE with her endless questions I'd already answered 3 times (yet another endearing quality of all children)..I'd had enough. So, as you might have already guessed, I lost my shit at everyone. I yelled. And then, of course, I felt kinda bad about it - because what sort of crappy mother shouts at her kids for wanting to be close to her? I should be shouting about drug use or plagiarism or blatant misuse of grammar, not shouting about something like cuddling! Geez, what sort of crappy mother am I?

The very same one who loses her shit, feels bad about it, and then solves it all with a hug and a butt rub.

*sigh*

I think this is a vicious circle, and I'm the one keeping it going...and yet I can't very well yell at myself to stop leaning on me, now can I?

Crazy Dog Lady

Way back when (before kids, and even after kids), I didn't want to get a dog. My Mom claimed that she was allergic to anything with hair, so I never grew up with pets of any kind (other than Rupert the turtle who reincarnated himself before becoming soup, but that's another blog post.) Then I grew up, and DH wanted a dog, and then suddenly I wanted a dog, and now we have one - the amazing Teddy, greyhound extraordinare.

To be sure, I'm still not a dog person...even though this beast was my idea in the first place, and even though he's fit so well into our lives that I can hardly remember life before him. Tonight we had some dinner with friends who are contemplating getting their first dog. The wife (who knows my prior life as a "no way in hell am I getting a dog" person) asked me if I was glad we got him.

I had to think about it for a moment, because, well, I don't love that he needs feeding and walking and whatnot. This is especially true since my kids can now feed and walk themselves and part of me loves the freedom I have from childcare duties. I don't love that he shits on my lawn because DH was too lazy to teach him to do his business in one specific corner of the garden. I don't love that it costs money - precious money right at this moment - to feed him the fancy dog food DH insists Teddy needs. I don't love that we cannot just disappear from the house for a weekend, because we need to plan for his welfare.

However.

I love that he just wants to be loved, and that he somehow manages to get 5 humans to comply with his requests. I love that he lays himself down - often in the strangest and most uncomfortable looking positions - just to be close to us. I love that he follows us around from room to room, and will often sit as close as he can (he even wraps himself around the base of the office chair as I blog) just to be with us. I love that his walking regime means we ALL get exercise at some point in the week. I love that he eats leftovers because it's almost like we are recycling, and I *heart* recycling. I love that giving him a pat and a cuddle and pulling his ears up gently so he looks funny can calm my soul. I love that the cheeky bugger manages to get himself loads of treats even though each of us will claim that it wasn't us who let him have it.

I just love...that he needs to be loved and we can provide that. I never realised how much love we had to give (and frankly, I thought our love was all accounted for my 3 other people in this house).

So while I may not have turned into "a dog person"...I'm a "Teddy person." So, god bless his cotton socks (which I just know he would wear if he could), I told her she'd be CRAZY not to get a dog. Because, you know, all dog ladies are crazy.

Thoughts and Wonders

In the past several months, I've been a bit adrift in terms of my life and what the heck it is I want to do with said life. Yes, I run a business and yes, I'm a mother and yes, yes, yes, it would seem as though my life is pretty darn organised and I've got this whole 'live a good life' thing pretty sewn up. The truth is, I don't think I actually am living the life I am meant to. I'm referring to my professional life, not my personal one (although, being a small business owner, they sometimes seem like the same thing.)

Don't misunderstand me. I don't have any need to escape my life and go hang out in an Indian ashram like the eat.pray.love author, nor do I want to eschew all creature comforts for a crunchy hippy life, nor will I wake up tomorrow wishing I was a corporate high flier. It's just that I'm not entirely sure I am doing what I am meant to be. I suppose you might say I am having a crisis of faith. I'm just...vaguely uneasy with things. There are certain thoughts, words, ideas which just seem to constantly live at the back of my brain, niggling away at me. At first I mistook these for negative self- talk: "I should be doing more" "I should be helping more" "I'll never be good enough" "I should have tried harder" "I haven't achieved enough" and so on. Having thought about it for a while now, I think it's more about not living an entirely authentic life than it is about me being some sort of bad or incapable person.

Just typing that "living an entirely authentic life" makes me snort and laugh and giggle like a 5 year old who just heard the word 'penis' said out loud. What the heck IS an authentic life, anyway? And who the hell believes in that hippy drippy arty farty stuff?

So here is the part where it gets a little interesting.

About a year ago, I organised a fundraising event for the kids' school. I used a certain company for this event. On their website, they credit a business coach for helping them to grow to their current level of success. I clicked through to that biz coach's site, liked what I saw and signed up for his newsletter. I've read the newsletter now for almost a year. It has never occurred to me to engage a business coach, I really just thought the newsletter would have some good free advice. Which, I should say - it did! The coach's writing style was engaging, funny, and often (to me anyway), full of wisdom.

Stay with me on this, okay?

A few weeks ago, said business coach offered some free mentoring to anyone who wanted to trial his services. Since I enjoyed his writing, I thought I'd sign up as it seemed (from what little I knew) that he and I would get along well. Ridiculous, really...to like someone based on their writing, while not really knowing anything about them, but there you go. I just had that strange feeling that, if I knew this guy in real life, we'd be fast friends. So we had our first session - which was eye opening and interesting and full of light bulb moments and it made me think a lot in the days afterwards. The first session was clearly meant as a freebie to get people to sign on with him for further (paid) sessions. However I made it clear that although I enjoyed the consult immensely, I had no means of engaging him for further work. Much to my extreme surprise and delight, he said, "I don't know why, but I really like you. I think we can achieve things together, and something about you draws me in. Let's just talk again next week" and then he set me some 'homework' tasks in preparation for our 2nd chat.

The second chat revealed a whole heck of a lot more than I thought it would, in so far as I revealed to this person (who is basically a stranger): I'm not entirely sure I am living the life I am meant to be. I'm not sure the path I've chosen is the right one. I think I've lost my way...and even though we're supposed to be talking about growing my business, I'm not all that sure I even want to BE in business in the first place.

All of those, and more, are thoughts which I've never said out loud, let alone to some guy I don't know at all. Still, it was an enormous admission for me to make. HUGE. Because after all, I am this...person...who is achieving what she set out to achieve, who is doing exactly what she said she would. But what if the thing I said I'd do... isn't really what I want to do? What if I just went along this path because a) it was expected of me and b) I knew I'd succeed at it? What then?

...and then he started using words like "intention" and "authentic" and a whole lot of other words which kinda made me feel uncomfortable.

As you can imagine, this conversation opened up an enormous can of worms. ENORMOUS. The crazy thing is, he thinks we should keep on talking... knowing full well I can't afford to pay him for his time, and knowing that he will only (for now anyway) be paid in gratitude. How do you explain that?

At the end of our conversation, he set me a task, which was based on Christine Kane's philosophy of 'Be. Want. Do.' It sounded terribly time consuming and emotionally difficult to do, but...I think I need to do it. Anyway, after hanging up with the biz advisor, I kept rolling that name around in my head...because the name Christine Kane sounded so familiar. And then I reached back into my mind and realised that almost 18 months ago now (around the same time I started to feel unsettled), I had read a post over at Karen's blog about making a vision board. A vision board post which referred back to - you guessed it - Christine Kane. I even bookmarked the post, because something about it resonated with me...and that in itself is funny, because I would have said all this 'authentic life' stuff is a load of crap.

Of course, now I can't shake this feeling of how life has come full circle. I read a post, and bookmarked a link, and then 18 months later met someone who led me right back to that forgotten post, and that forgotten link.

My head is now bursting with thoughts and wonders. I think this will be an interesting year.

New Year

So it would seem I've not been the best blogger I could have been this past year...but then, events of the past year have been, while blog-worthy, also emotionally challenging. So I've let my blogging slide in favour of time spent under the covers, bowls of cereal late at night, visits to the gym for some mind-clearing time, and endless hugs and time spent with my kids and DH. Not that I didn't do those things BEFORE my annus horribillis (not a condition requiring softer toilet paper - it describes a type of year) ... but this year I revelled in those things, and I didn't make time to blog about them. This year, I resolve to be a better (or at least more frequent) blogger.

How can I make new year resolutions in September? Well, this Thursday is Jewish New Year, which is followed by the Yamim Noraim (the Days of Awe.) Over this period of ten days, you are meant to reflect on the year that was and ask for forgiveness for all the bad stuff you did. For me, I tend to ask The Big Man Upstairs (who, I should say, I've had a tumultuous relationship with thus far. I have some believing issues...) to listen to my various requests for the new year. 10 years ago, I sat in temple asking TBMU to please, please, please let at least one of those eggs in that lab grow into a viable embryo. I then famously had to leave temple in the middle of New Year services in order to undergo the transplantation of said embryos. Some days later I sat in temple again, begging TBMU for those embryos to continue to grow and thrive...and as I write this, those 3 embryos are now upstairs asleep in their beds. So it would seem that, on occasion, TBMU listens to his flock...and reminds us to be careful what we wish for.

This year I have quite a lot to ask forgiveness for... mostly because there have been times when I have not been kind when I could have been, not been patient when I needed to be, talked a whole lot of smack (I'm a gossiper. There you go. It is what it is.), and ate too much stuff although I'm not entirely sure that's sinful. I also probably lied, coveted other people's stuff, and in general did not act as holy I could have. What I DID do this year was try to be the best sister, friend, mother and daughter that I knew how to be given the situations I faced. I think that's got to count for something.

Without further ado, TBMU, here are the things I would like you to consider giving me this year if you can take a break from protecting soldiers, helping the Oreo company make a calorie-free version, and keeping tsunamis from happening too often.

1. A job for DH. Not just any job, but one which will leave him happy, content, and proud of himself. He deserves it - because he is not only a good father and good husband, but just a good person.

2. Some sort of acceptance on my part. Acceptance that my Dad is gone, that my kids will grow up and be okay, that I will never be a Size 10, and that sometimes it's okay not to be cheerful all the time.

3. Peace. There is a page in our friday night prayer book which lists a bunch of things we want peace for - peace for soldiers fighting wars, peace for people struggling with themselves, and so on. So I want that whole page to come true. Incidentally, my personal favourite line refers to peace for parents who are worried about their children, and peace for children who are worried about their parents. I like the idea that it can go both ways.

That's it. I only want 3 things. Truth be told I could come up with a whole long list of things I really want...but then this holiday is not about being selfish. It's about being introspective, and when I really, really think about it - those 3 things are all I really want. I don't think it's too much to ask for..and if it is, well, call me selfish and then I'll repent for that next year. Never too late to start planning...

Aussie Aussie Aussie

Oi! Oi! Oi!
(a common shout out done by rabid fans at Australian sporting events.)

You know you have been living in Australia for too long when:

1. Your hybrid Aussie/American accent does NOT fade the longer you are in the US. At the end of two weeks you are still getting, "So where are you from?" and then a confused look when you say, "I'm from LA, mate."

2. Said accent comes in handy when you get a speeding ticket on the I-5 somewhere in Central California...and you pull over to the wrong side of the freeway (not realising it was the wrong side in the first place.) Then you put your best Aussie accent on and tell the officer you're just visiting from OZ-tray-liyah and so don't know nuttin' about American road rules, let alone silly things like speed limits...and it totally works on him. (Also helpful to throw in a LOT of "mates" and "come round for dinner if you're ever Down Under")

3. You see Tim Tams for sale in American supermarkets and it annoys you because this means they have sold out to American consumerism and that this is a dilution of the Tim Tam brand. A Tim Tam fails to be special once you can easily get it in another country.

4. You hear that damn song "I Still Call Australia Home" played on the Qantas flight a million bloody times and yet the sight of those kids singing in Uluru still makes you tear up like an idiot.

5. You go to an Ice Hockey game (in Australia, who knew?!) and when they tell you to stand for the National Anthem, you panic a bit because, for a split second, you can't actually remember how the American one starts. (Good thing, too, because they sang the Australian one..which they would, given that the game was played in Australia. Duh!)

6. You think it's cool that, with the exception of a New Zealand stamp, all the other stamps in your passport are Australian...but then you forget that this just means your sorry ass hasn't travelled anywhere really amazing in a long while. (Other than New Zealand, which is almost like vacationing in your backyard. A truly spectacular backyard, but still...)

7. When you come into an Australian airport, you automatically head into the "citizens" line before you remember you've always been too cheap and too lazy to apply for citizenship so you sheepishly go and wait in the really, really long line which should be labelled "this line is for people who are too cheap and lazy to apply for citizenship."

8. You didn't vote in the recent election because you're not allowed to (see #7), but realise that if you could have, you probably would have...and you would even have a decent idea of who was running and what they were all about.

9. You cannot understand what the hell the menu at Starbucks says, and you find yourself standing in line muttering, "Bloody Americans! Why can't they just say "coffee" on the menu if that's what they sell? Venti, shmenti, latte, shmatte, I just want a freakin' cold coffee."

10. You can write a list like this in the first place, and have to use your imaginary editing pen in order to not make this list go on for several more pages.

Sadly, people, I think the transformation is complete...mate!

Circles

On the very same day last year, at almost the very same time, I was in exactly the same place. That place would be the Qantas International Lounge at Melbourne Airport, waiting to board a flight to Los Angeles.

Last time, I couldn't see where I was going because I was crying so hard. I needed the use of DH's strong arms just to keep myself upright, and moving in a forward direction. My eyes were literally burning from all the tears I'd cried in the intervening 24 hours. I sat in the lounge, and I called my sister, and I told her over and over, "I'm coming, I'm coming, we're on our way." It will probably be the hardest phone call I've ever made, and the hardest trip I've ever taken. And here I am, exactly a year later. I'm in the same lounge, but I haven't made any phone calls to anyone. I don't have DH here with me. I'm on my own, and I have a few minutes just to think about what the past twelve months have been like.

Truth be told I could probably write all about the 'process' of grief. How some days are just normal, okay, life-is-normal days and how others are I-can't-breathe sort of days where you are painfully reminded that your world is one person smaller. I could write about the many hours I've spent crying - either in the arms of my supportive husband, or by myself in the car as I drive to or from work or school or wherever. I could write about how horribly lonely this past year was, purely by virtue of being an ex-pat and not having anyone in Australia who knew my Dad well, or wants to talk about him, or who can even begin to allow me to wallow in my grief. I sat in the lounge last year and I headed to a world where everything had changed - my American family's daily lives are affected by my Dad's absence, while here in Australia nothing had changed for my immediate circle at all. I think some people think that should make it easier for me... but being alone in one's grief is perhaps the most alone one can really be.

So. I could keep writing about all of that, about how much it's just no fun at all to be alone and lonely and sad and trying to keep the "I'm a capable mother and business owner and over achiever and woman and wife and fabulous person" persona going. But I don't think my Dad would appreciate that. So instead, I'm going to write about all the new things I've learned in the past twelve months of life without my Dad. In no particular order...stuff my Dad's death has taught me:

1. Time does not heal all wounds, but it does provide perspective, and peace. I may never 'recover' from losing him, but I'll be at peace about it. Eventually.

2. Life is about seizing opportunities even if they are terrifying...and it really is true that with every closed door, another window opens. This is hard to appreciate when it seems (as it has lately) that everything is falling apart around you.

3. Nothing is worth fighting with your family about. State your piece, defend your honour...and then walk away and shut your mouth. Learn to move on because ultimately, your family is all you will ever have in this world. Long after boyfriends, jobs, houses, and money - your Mom, your siblings, your kids will all still be there.

4. Chocolate is not ever a good solution to sadness but it does make a reasonable band-aid, as long as you remember that band-aids are not meant to stay on forever. Eventually, you'll shower.

5. Exercise is the single best mood-improver there is...and going (to the gym or a walk or whatever) when you LEAST want to is the BEST time to do so.

6. Putting on a brave face doesn't make you strong. Being strong makes you able to put on a brave face, and sometimes you're doing it for yourself as much as for others. "Fake it till you make it" actually works.

7. I don't need to do the things my Dad did in order to remember him. I don't need to keep his traditions, I don't need to folllow his rules, I don't need to emulate his personality. The single best way to remember my Dad is to live by the life lessons he taught me and be the person he raised me to be. THAT person would never take on someone else's traits because they missed someone - that person would walk their own path, in their own way, doing their own thing. He often used to tell me he appreciated my intellect, my wit, my stubborn ability to do things MY way. The best way to keep his memory alive is to keep being that person, knowing that if he could see me now, he'd be as proud as ever. The question I've asked myself is not, "What would Dad do?"...the question I ask is, "What would Dad think about this if he could see it?" I am often surprised at how different the answers to those two questions are.

8. Sometimes choosing to be selfish is the best way you can be nice to someone else. This past year I've chosen to go on dates with my girlfriends, go to the gym, spend time on ME. I've felt selfish every single time I've done it... but I know that the free time I've had has made me far more able to be a good wife and mother.

...and I'm sure there are many more lessons I've learned, some of which will not become clear until much later. But for now, my flight is about to leave, and I've got to go back to my family and bask in their love and affection and good humour. Because it's what my Dad would expect of me, what my family needs, and because I know it's the single best thing I could be doing for myself.

Because After The Storm

...there are rainbows. And since I am trying very hard to be all positive and up beat and "rah rah sis boom bah, we'll pay our mortgage la la la" about things, here are 5 things which are making me smile this week (but scroll down and read the "things which are annoying me" post first):

1. DD had a shower and then decided to get onto the toilet... and when she was done, she stood up, grinned, and said, "I don't have any undies to pull up! Well, that's handy!" and then laughed..and her sibs and I (who were in the room next to her) heard it and started to laugh like hyenas. Such enthusiasm over such a small thing, and her comedic timing was just brilliant. So now we've been walking around for a couple of days saying, "Well, that's handy!" about nearly everything. "Kids, dinner is ready!" "Well, that's handy!" "Oh no, I shrunk my new shirt in the wash," "Well, that's handy!" and so on, ad infinitum.

2. DH's new haircut looks completely amazing, and the goatee he is growing to match it looks equally good. Never thought I'd think so, but fat Jewish men in their 50's can be totally smokin' hot. (And to be fair, he's lost a fair amount of weight so he's not really fat anymore.)

3. I finally, finally worked out the right combination of doors closed and open to heat our house. It's freezing cold in Melbourne, and while our house is heated, it's an open-plan style of home. Which means that some parts are always hot, and some parts are arctic. I finally worked out how to close the right doors so that it's just toasty warm in almost every part of the downstairs (other than the toilets...damn.) Doesn't sound like a big deal but I am ALWAYS cold, so for me to say, "Gee, it's kinda hot in here, we need to turn the heat down!" is unusual and cause for celebration.

4. I'm going to the US in 3 weeks - and while we don't have the money, and I can't afford the time off of work, and I'm not happy about the reason for my trip - I am so excited just to get a hug from my Mom, and have a coffee with my sister, and lay on my niece's bed and listen to her teenage stories, and read my other niece a story, and have my nephew teach me some game on his iTouch which we will then become obsessed about, and go on a mini-vay kay trip with my childhood bestie..and and and and! OMG OMG, I'm like, totally, going to Elllll- Aaaayyyy, dudes!

5. My new favourite snack: Some thin rice crackers spread with a bit of cream cheese and a scrape of sundried tomato pesto. If I close my eyes I can even pretend it's mildly healthy. And while something like food shouldn't be making me happy, I've been trying to find a quick, scrummy, mostly healthy and easy snack for ages and ages. So YAY for easily prepared and easily eaten snacks.

Rainbows, people, rainbows. I keep looking for them, and mostly finding them..but I know that will get harder as time goes on.

Things Which Are Annoying Me

A short list of things which are irritating me this week, for your reading pleasure:

1. I went to the interview, I got the job, then they didn't call to tell me when to come in and start working as they were meant to. What part of, 'If I don't start raking in some money soon, we will all be sleeping in our car and eating Vegemite on saltines" did they not understand? (But, on the plus side: my 2nd application netted me an interview tomorrow. So if that one comes up good, we'll be saved from the Vegemite, thank god, because Vegemite is just gross.)

2. Having a boy look. DH needs to complete some paperwork in order to shove a giant rocket up the ass of his former employer, because they treated him like crap and they need to be brought to justice. Said paperwork has a time limit by which he can complete it...a time limit which ends tomorrow. He needed a specific document in order to complete the paperwork. He spent THREE days looking for said piece of paper, tearing the house apart and supposedly turning over every rock. I walked in the house, looked in a box sitting at the front door, and found it inside of 10 seconds. The very SAME box he says he emptied out. What is it about men having a 'boy look' for things?!

3. I had a 2 week break from the gym and training since the kids were home, and I just find it very hard to get it done while they are underfoot. I went back to the gym this week, but then at training felt as though I was wading through molasses, very low energy and finding it hard to keep up. Losing fitness that quickly just sucks, because it makes me feel horrible about myself. Argh. Plus I don't think we can actually afford training any more, but the idea of having to give it up for financial reasons makes me want to cry. (Does crying burn calories?)

4. I am incapable of making decent pop overs. I'm going to try AGAIN this week, but geez! I'm a pastry chef, this should totally be easy for me to do. What IS it about those damn things? I saw a packet of frozen ones at ALDI this week... and considered buying them and passing them off as my own. Yes, I've stooped that low. (For my Aus friends: popovers=Yorkshire puds.)

5. I got stiffed on a cake this week. The client was frustrating from the get-go (last count of emails: 37 and counting). Her deposit bounced back, she kept changing her mind, and I had to make the decision to tell her I wasn't going to make her cake for her...by 2pm Friday I had no money, no confirmation of anything, and she was not contactable. From a business point of view, it was absolutely the right decision. Personally, though, it kinda made me feel like shit. I hate having to disappoint people, even when they disappoint me first.

Go on, make me feel better - what's annoying YOU this week?

Pwffht! Pwffht! Pwffht!

(the sound of the chopper blades... or the sound which heralds a new post about Helicopter Mum.)

Earlier this week my trio went off to school camp for 3 days. I don't remember my American childhood being punctuated by these events, so for explanation purposes: it's a field trip, usually 2-3 days, which kids at Australian schools go to. Usually it's related to their field of study for that term. So in the case of my kids, because "gold" was the topic - they and the Grade 4's headed off for 3 days to Ballarat, a town famous for being a major destination during the Victorian Gold Rush and Sovereign Hill (replica gold rush town).

Helicopter Mum was in full flight over this trip - a trip which has been in the planning for several months. A trip which involved plenty of capable teachers acting as chaperones. A trip which every kid was counting the days to, a trip which was just bursting with excitement and adventure. So first it was the complaint that we didn't get given the phone number of their accommodation (no idea why we would need to call in the first place... but that's me). Then it was the declaration that HM's other daughter was having 'separation anxiety issues' about her sister going away for 2 nights. Uuum, hello, didn't ALL of us want to be only children at some point? I'm thinking separation anxiety is a euphemism for "bloody thrilled about it." Then it was the assertion that said little sister had nightmares the night before camp, due to earlier separation anxiety issues... which is just too ridiculous for me to comment on. Then there were the myriad little worries - will she eat enough? be warm enough? be cold enough? remember to tie her shoes? be able to sleep in a bunk bed? remember she left behind a neurotic mother?

And on and on and on and on and on and on it went. I understand that there are parents out there who are more protective of their kids - who want to wrap them in cotton wool and store them under glass rather than allow them some freedom. I would even understand the endless worrying if this kid was heading off on some youth group camp staffed by pimple-faced sixteen year olds. (Okay, I lied. I can't think of ANY time that amount of worry is warranted.) But this was a school activity, in a totally closed environment, supervised by teachers. Every single child on every single minute of every single day was accounted for. Helicopter Mum really just suffers from extreme anxiety - which I truly think is a mental health issue for her - but it's the kids who are dealing with the fallout of her own issues. Her kids can barely walk two feet without her hovering, questioning, worrying, nagging, or just plain robbing them of the joy of being children. At least one of her kids has already started to exhibit the same behaviours - which to me is worth a lot more worry time.

The rest of us parents just hang around and observe this, with as much internal eye-rolling and "is she for real?" as we can get away with...and to her face we just try and alleviate her worries and be comforting. Secretly, though, we're all taking bets on how long it is before her hen-pecked, suffocated, cloistered children take up with the wrong crowd and end up pregnant at age 15 because their Mum was too stressed out to explain to them about what sex is.

*eye roll*

You Reaps What You Sows

This past week DH and I were empty nesters for three days as the trio went on school camp. Three days and two nights with no kids in the house... the first time that has ever happened since they were born 9 years ago. The house was so quiet, and so clean..and so terribly, terribly boring. Originally DH and I had planned to take ourselves away for those 3 days, but finance and life meant that we nixed that idea a while ago. Plan B was to go away just overnight, but then in light of recent events that too got nixed.

On Monday, while I prepared for my job interview and he sent out job applications (what an exciting life we lead...) I had the brilliant plan to take my own advice. One of my favourite coping mechanisms (as previously blogged about) is to take a micro-mini vacation. I decided it ws high time I took my own advice on what to do when life just gets to be too much. Thus decided, DH and I used the lovely wotif.com to book an el cheapo night at a CBD hotel and we headed off a few hours later.

It ended up being one of the best decisions we've made - because we decided that, for 24 hours, we were not going to worry. We were not going to fret about money, about jobs, about kids, about anything. We were just going to have fun and be indulgent and worry about NOTHING...other than the very important task of giving DH a make-over, one which he needed in both a physical and mental sense.

So we started at the barber shop, where he shaved off his 50 year old comb-over. A HUGE event as he was very, um, attached to that thing. And it's the same barber shop who gave him his first haircut at 6 months old, so there's a certain cosmic fabulousness to it. When then ate copius amounts of lollies from a newly-discovered lolly shop, had a completely delicious meal at Sahara (which neither of us has heard of, we stumbled upon it) and then saw a stupid movie at the Halfpipe cinema. The next day we indulged in retail therapy, which was a necessity, having thrown out a vast majority of the contents of DH's closet only moments before leaving the house. So we got him new jeans, boots, business shirts, polo shirts...and so on. Basically we made him a new man from top to bottom.

We ended our day with a trip to IKEA (because who doesn't love all things cheap and colourful?) and a stop at the mall (to pick up some bits not found in the CBD) and then the totally necessary ice cream stop. A very full, fun, thrilling and mildly naughty 24 hours. We ended our day poorer, but with both of us feeling exceptionally cheerful and excited about all the new things which are sure to come our way. We came home to the same troubles, the same worries... but somehow, DH is walking taller (and it's not just the new boots), I am succeeding at smiling a bit more than I was, and we are determined that we'll get through this.

Truth is I have no idea what is coming around the corner for us - but I do know that our little escape from our lives reminded us that we can get through this, as a couple, and we will survive. I am of course hoping that good things and new jobs are around the corner (as is DH)... so keep the prayers and good wishes and whatever else coming our way. In the meantime, hands up for all those who believe in the healing power of lollies and love.

There Shall Be Rainbows

...because rainbows are what you get after a storm, and this has been one heck of a stormy year.

This past Monday, my DH lost his job. Those who know me in real life would know that this isn't the first time it's happened. The last time, it very nearly destroyed my marriage and my home and my sanity. This time, he didn't see it coming... and this time, things will be different. Rather than sit around and wait for miracles, we've already started to put into place things which will make this round of financial and emotional hell a lot more manageable.

To that end, I've started to apply for some part-time jobs, and exactly 48 hours after starting this process, I've got an interview lined up. There is a part of me which feels kinda guilty about how seemingly easy it was - compared to what I know won't be nearly as easy for DH... but there's another part of me which feels vindicated. A very long time ago, I said one of my main purposes in re-training as a chef was that I'd always be able to find a job opportunity. The world will always need cooks - and with my training, I'll always be able to be one. I'll always have the security of knowing that no matter what, I have the skills to provide for my family...and that in itself is priceless. So it turns out that all the people who told me I was silly to be leaving a middle-management style of admin job... suck it. I was right. Eat that rainbow for breakfast, sweetheart.

My Dad told me that my job choice would eventually kill me - because let's face it, being an obese person around food all day is NOT exactly a great recipe (pun completely intended although not terribly witty of me). He was partially right, in that as soon as I became a chef I started to gain a lot of weight (hello butter and salt, how lovely to know you.) However, in the past 10 months I've lost somewhere in the region of 75 pounds. So...you know... rainbows. Thinner ones - but no less fabulous.

DH, for that matter, was smiling today - and he told me he is feeling positive about his prospects. He gave himself a day to be upset, woke up the next morning...and decided he needed to move forward and not dwell. Now he IS human (or at least, I think so...? But maybe all that sci-fi he's into has rubbed off) and so I think he has his dark moments, and maybe in a tiny little corner of his brain he's upset....but for his sake and mine, he's decided to channel that energy into finding a new position. He's working damn hard to find a new rainbow for himself - and let's face it, his wife needs the pot of gold at the end of it to pay the bills..

My kids... oh, my dear, sweet, understanding, fabulous kids. They knew that something was wrong when DH walked in the door only a few hours after he left for work. I had no choice but to explain (in kid friendly terms) what was happening - and I told them that DH would need loads and loads of love and affection. I even told them it was their official job to be sure that he had enough of it - and true to form, they're doing their best to ensure he never forgets that we are working through this together, as a family. They themselves are each a rainbow.

Truth be told, it's me who is having the hardest time making any rainbows... I'd really much rather scrunch myself into a little ball under my duvet and cry, and complain, and scream, and admit my worries, which are large and plentiful. But I don't have that luxury. There are cakes to be baked, husbands to hug, children to love, and a life to lead. And so, I will get up tomorrow..and the next day...and the next... and I'll make some rainbows.

It's been one heck of a crazy year. I lost my Dad, my son went haywire for a few months, the business has been in a major state of flux, and life has only really been smooth sailing for the past few weeks. And now, this bombshell has landed smack dab in the middle of my contented happiness. It sucks. HUGELY.

So while I am busy trying to make some rainbows, I'd like to ask only one thing: whoever or whatever it is up there that is in charge of storms? I'd really appreciate it if the storm passes quicker this time. Because the sooner we get to making rainbows, the better...and I don't know about you, but I'm not all that patient.

Hair Today

I got a haircut last week, and now I am in emotional turmoil. Not because the haircut was bad, but because it was the haircut-before-the-haircut and this means I have only five weeks to come to terms with my hair decision. A decision which includes getting rid of most of my existing hair, and changing it's colour in a somewhat dramatic fashion. Those who are in the know, let me just say that my next haircut and colour will involve a product called fudge. I'm not sure but I think I'm about 20 years too old to be using it, but what the hell, right?

A brief history of me and my hair is as follows: my Mom has a "thing" about hair, and short hair in general. She just doesn't like long hair, and so it took until I was an adult (okay, a teenager) before I was allowed to grow it anywhere past my shoulders or even below my ears. I have some seriously horrendous school photos. Once I got old enough to grow my own hair, I grew it and grew it and grew it until I realised that long hair requires some serious maintenance. And then I cut it, and cut it, and cut it, and then lost enough weight so that a pixie haircut was actually flattering. And then I gained the weight back and the hair came back, too. (Fat people + short hair = mushrooms. Just sayin'.)

I have very odd hair in that it cannot decide if it is curly or straight, mousy or highlighted, oily or dry. It somehow manages to be all of those things at the same time. I also have a love/hate relationship with hair products - love to buy them, hate to use them. The same is true for hair appliances like straighteners and whatnot. Love to say I own them, hate to have to take the time to use them. Anything more than 2 minutes hair prep in the morning is officially too long for me. It took until my late 20's before I realised haircuts need to happen more than once a year in order to actually be effective. (Okay, I lied. More like my early 30's.)

Last year I had to divorce my hairdresser. She had looked after me from the very first minute I landed on Australian shores, but 12 years later she had to go. Our relationship had lost it's shine, it's bounce, it's spin-around-in-slow-motion gloriousness and it was time to move on. It took a year but I finally found someone ... and now I'm about to let her cut all my hair off. It's time. I'm bored with the soccer Mom look, particularly since none of my kids play soccer and I can't justify the haircut. Plus after 10 months of actual effort on my part, I'm mostly thin enough in the face to justify fun, flirty, short hair again. The deed is also going to be done about a week before I see my Mom, so I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a certain amount of brownie points getting to be done. (Not that my Mom would love me any less with longer hair...it's just that she's a Jewish Mother and all Jewish Mothers love being able to tell you that you did exactly what they wanted, and it looks amazing, and if it weren't for them we'd all be up a creek, and why didn't we listen to them earlier?)

So. It's 5 weeks to hair-chop-and-fudge day and I'm vacillating between a) terrified and b) thrilled and c) what-the-hell-am-I-thinking type of thinking? (can you vacillate between 3 things? Or does it have to be only 2?) All of these are odd thoughts, since it's certainly not the first time I've gone to the hairdressers and had a complete and total change. I've had my hair coloured everything from blond to black, had lengths from total pixie to below my bra line. Hair grows back, and that's what's so fun about it. This time, though, I'm putting my trust in someone whose own hair is at several different lengths, colours and shapes all at the same time.

At this point I would normally end with something snappy like, "Don't worry, I'll post pictures." ... but since my faith is wavering, let me just say: Don't worry, I'm not getting my personality cut and coloured. That's already beyond change.

Report Cards

This weeks marks the end of Term Two - here in Australia the school year is broken into 4 terms, or 2 semesters of 2 terms each. At the end of this term we get school report cards as well as parent/teacher interviews.

Suffice it to say I really kinda hate both of those...

A long time ago my sister (herself a veteran primary school teacher) told me that if you read you kid's school report, and you're surprised by anything in it, your teacher isn't doing their job. So each time I get a report, I read it hoping that there are no hidden surprises in there - which thus far there have never been. We've been pretty lucky.

But here's the part which annoys me. My kids go to a private school. A very small private school. There aren't that many kids who go there, less than 100. I know teachers are human, and I know they're busy, and I know they often write school reports in their personal time.... but, really, the cut-and-paste is pissing me off. I know it's hard to come up with 100 original ways to say "X child is enjoying math this year" ... but, people? I read THREE reports. In a row. And when they all say the same thing, verbatim, I begin to think these reports actually have very little value. I have begun to think of reports as the stack of paper the school gives you to prove your kid is learning something, should you wish to sue them on the grounds of them NOT teaching your kid anything. The bits of paper are their bona fides... and that's it.

In one case, DD2 was referred to by DD1's name. So maybe proof reading is not that teacher's strong point...but... this just makes my opinion of school reports even lower than they were in the first place. Even sorrier is that all these teachers believe (probably rightly) that all parents want to hear is the good stuff ... and so even "your child is a narcissistic pain in the ass who will grow up to be a serial killer" can be sugar coated to "your child is extremely confident and will find a rewarding, long term career in people management." *sigh* What are these reports actually worth, other than the value of the paper on which they are written?

And then there are the parent/teacher interviews, where they show you stacks and stacks and stacks of papers done through the year so far. Your role as a parent is to sit in the too-small chair and nod your head politely. Maybe ask a question or two (if you're feeling game) but basically, you sit and listen and pray like hell that they don't tell you anything you don't already know. In our case it's often a matter of "count how many times they refer to one kid by the other kids' name"... its most entertaining!

This year the kids decided that it wasn't fair that teachers get to write reports about kids, but that kids don't get to write reports about teachers. The kids' teacher is a brave (possibly insane) person, so she let them write reports about her... but, being a tit-for-tat classroom, they also had to write reports about themselves. Genius. Pure genius. When I went to the parent/teacher interview, she let me read the reports they wrote about themselves, and it was absolutely fascinating. Kids don't sugar coat, they don't cut-and-paste, they just put it all out there for the world to see. I actually learned a LOT more about how my kids are coping academically from their own reports... rather than the crap their teachers sent home.

So I think it's only fair that kids get to rule the world... because chances are they'll actually tell you a lot more useful information than you'll get out of the grown ups, and as an added bonus: there will be pretty pictures to look at!

Splish Splash

One of the things which commenters on this blog (and other parents I know in real life) llooovveee to harass me about is the whole "bath night" thing. For some reason they all find it offensive and weird and gross and dirty that my kids have specific bath nights. "Don't they get dirty on other days?" "It's disgusting not to shower every day!" and "You seriously only let your kids shower on certain days? Don't they smell?" are pretty common comments - although some have been far more rude than that... I'll just address this by answering WHY we have bath nights (as in more than one.)

Firstly, let me just say that if my kids wanted to shower EVERY night, they would be more than welcome to. It's not like we build a barricade around the showers or charge an entry fee. Secondly, if we all went rolling in mud but it was not a bath night, its not as though I'd say, "Whoah there kiddos! No washing today! It's not bath night! Much better to get in your beds covered in animal shit!" And thirdly, I'm fairly certain that a majority of the free world does not shower every single day, and there are several reasons not to (not great for your hair, skin, or the drought.) So not showing every day does not make ANY of us freaks of nature or society.

Seriously, people. Give me a little bit of credit here.

Imagine, if you will, what life with three babies is like. Three screaming, shitting, crying, eating, spitting, yelling, not sleeping babies. Babies who, while adorable, are very loud and very demanding. Then add a BIG MASSIVE incision right above your hoo-haa, and pack it with gauze and stuff and forget about taking any pain medication. I also want you to attach mechanical nipple-stretchers to your boobs several times a day. Then I want you to imagine you're just falling asleep when WWAAAAHHHH you get woken up by one or more of said babies. Hmmm. Now imagine trying to keep track of all those babies eating, sleeping, shitting, and bathing habits...especially when all those damn babies kinda look alike in the dark and you have no idea if today is Tuesday or not, or when the last time you ate anything was.

Not so easy.

The best advice we ever got from other parents of multiples was to put our kids into a routine from the minute they were born. It was advice that we clung to like Titanic survivors on a life raft as we negotiated our kids' early babyhood - and advice that we still follow even today. Having a routine makes your life and their life much easier to handle - everyone knows what's coming next, there are no battles over routine activities, and in general you end up with a happier and healthier family all around. So that's what we did - we developed a routine, and this routine includes specific Bath Nights. Not because we think you only get dirty on Mondays, but because that way, we KNEW that if we had built in 3 baths a week to the routine, there was no chance of anyone forgetting to do it. We had (and have) bath nights for one reason and one reason only: it saved us our sanity. Literally, DH and I were falling through those days and nights of babyhood - I'm talking thousands of diapers, hundreds of bottles in any given week. So if we knew certain things had to get done on certain days, well, it made everything a lot simpler.

Some of you reading this will wonder why, at 9 years old, we still have the bath night routine built in. Surely they are older and our life is more organised now? Here's why: I have no desire to get into a power struggle with my kids. I feel no need to beg, plead, cajole, demand, or even ASK NICELY 4 times for them to get washed. They just know it needs to get done, and they do it without ever being asked. This is a very far cry from a vast majority of my friends, many of whom need to remind, nag, beg, plead, and bribe their kids to take a shower. In our house, it's just a given.

There are plenty of times when I will ask one or more of them to take extra showers or baths, and generally speaking they don't argue about that either. With bath night, they know and I know what is expected and what's going to happen. We all maintain our standards and then some as needed. Simple. No arguing. I'm not sweating the small stuff, and neither are they. It's why we maintain the routine - so that everyone is always on the same page, and I can spend my life as a Mum enjoying my kids rather than having to feel like the fishwife.

The routine is also the reason why my kids don't watch heaps of TV, have (and complete) chores every single day, love to do non-screen time activities, and take responsibility for their pet, their home, their belongings and their lives in general. I'd gladly take ALL of that in exchange for one less shower a week.

And to those of you who, for whatever reason, still think our way of life is disgusting... tell me, how did you manage it with YOUR triplets?